1879-1880
CHRISTMAS CARDS AND BOOKS—H. STACY MARKS, R.A., JOHN RUSKIN, AND
FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON
The year 1846—the birth-year of both Kate Greenaway and Randolph
Caldecott—marked also the genesis of the Christmas card. What was
in the first instance a pretty thought and dainty whim, by its
twenty-fifth year had become a craze, and has now, another quarter
of a century later, fallen into a tenacious and somewhat erratic
dotage. The first example of which there is any trace was a private
card designed by J. C. Horsley, R.A., for Sir Henry Cole, of the South
Kensington Museum, and it proved to be the forerunner of at least two
hundred thousand others that were placed upon the market before 1894
in England alone. For five-and-twenty years the designing of them was
practically confined to the journeyman artist, who rang the changes on
the Christmas Plum-pudding, the Holly and Mistletoe, and on occasional
religious reference, with little originality and less art. Later on
all that was changed. About 1878 certain manufacturers, printers, and
publishers recognised the possibilities which lay in an improved type
of production, with the result that in 1882 so great was the boom that
‘one firm alone paid in a single year no less a sum than seven thousand
pounds for original drawings’ for these cards.[19]
Thereupon arose the Christmas card collector, who vaunted his
possessions even as the stamp collector or book-plate collector of
to-day takes pride in his. One of the most ardent is credited with the
ownership of 700 volumes, weighing together between six and seven tons
and containing 163,000 varieties! The decade 1878 to 1888 was his happy
hunting-time, for it was then that not only were book-illustrators
of the highest repute induced to follow an employment which up to
that time had been looked upon as merely perfunctory, but established
artists, Royal Academicians and others who were popularly supposed to
work only for Art’s sake and not at all for that of Commerce, vied with
one another for the rewards which waited upon artistic success in the
new field.
Kate Greenaway had begun the designing of Christmas cards anonymously
in the pre-collector days, and her earliest productions, which were
no doubt an advance upon most of those which preceded them, are
nevertheless interesting rather as curiosities than as works of art.
In her valentines she had adopted the slashed doublet and buskin
convention; but the Christmas card was to prove her triumph. Not that
she shook herself free from her trammels all at once; but signs of
grace quickly appeared, and the year 1878 found her working on original
lines in the front rank of the artists who were taking advantage of
the new departure. Before this date her cards seem never to have been
signed, and are not easy to identify, as they lack the distinctive
characteristics of her later work. As time goes on they bear, if not
the initials ‘K. G.,’ at any rate the unquestionable evidence of her
style. Doubtless the difficulty of identifying her early work is due
chiefly to the fact that the designs, mainly flower pieces, were only
sketched out by her and were given into the hands of more experienced
draughtsmen to be finished. What was most noticeable in her work at
this period was the remarkable ease with which she adapted her designs
to the spaces they were to occupy, whether oblongs, uprights, circles,
or ovals.
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS CARDS.
_From water-colour drawings in the possession of W. Marcus Ward,
Esq._]
By this year she was, as _Under the Window_ proves, in her own way
‘drawing her inspiration from classic forms unfettered by classic
conventions,’ and her very original designs, coming at a time when
the vogue was at its height, went no little way towards increasing
her popularity. From this time many of her Christmas cards are well
worthy the notice of the collector of beautiful things; and the fact
that her work, done with a single eye to this mode of publication, grew
rarer and rarer as time went on gives them the adventitious value of
scarcity which sharpens the appetite for acquisition. It is true that
Christmas cards bearing her signature continued to appear until late
into the ‘nineties, but these were usually designs made for her books
and afterwards appropriated to other uses. Those of her best period are
fully entitled to rank amongst the Art products of the time. These were
years when Christmas cards were Christmas cards, designed by Mr. Marcus
Stone, R.A., Mr. G. D. Leslie, R.A., Mr. J. Sant, R.A., Mr. W. F.
Yeames, R.A., H. Stacy Marks, R.A., J. C. Herbert, R.A., and Sir Edward
Poynter, the present President of the Royal Academy. They had not yet
developed, as now, into anything from the counterfeit presentment of an
old boot, or a cigar-end, to the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. As Gleeson
White wrote, with genuine indignation, in 1894—
The mass of recent cards, with few notable exceptions, are merely
bric-à-brac, and of no more intrinsic merit as to design or colour than
half the superfluous trifles of the ‘fancy emporium,’ the _articles de
Paris_ in oxidised metal, rococo, gilt plush, and ormolu, which fill
the windows of our best and worst shopping streets, and in debased
imitations overflow the baskets on the pavements outside cheap drapery
stores.
[Illustration: Early Sketch for Christmas Card.]
Wherefore, to turn back from these to the work of Kate Greenaway at the
end of the ‘seventies and beginning of the ‘eighties is to recognise
something of a revelation.
The little drawings of sprites, gnomes, and fairies which, as has
been related, attracted the attention of the Rev. W. J. Loftie and
of Messrs. Marcus Ward, in Miss Greenaway’s first black-and-white
exhibition at the Dudley Gallery, and found their way into the
_People’s Magazine_, were indirectly responsible for at least a
hundred separate designs from her brush, all of them reflecting equal
credit on the artist and the firm which reproduced them. Some idea
of the importance of the output of this house may be gathered from
the fact that in 1884 a collection of drawings, done in the main for
their Christmas cards, was sold by auction at Messrs. Fosters’ Rooms
for £1,728: 12s.[20] In this as in every other field of her work she
received the sincerest but to her the most annoying kind of flattery.
For example, in 1880 an important house offered £500 in prizes for
Christmas card designs, with Sir Coutts Lindsay, Stacy Marks, R.A.,
and G. H. Boughton, R.A., as judges; and one of the prizes fell to
‘K. Terrell, for designs after the style of Kate Greenaway.’ The sale
of these Christmas cards ran literally into millions; and when it is
remembered that probably not more than three were designed then for
three thousand pictorial postcards put forth to-day, the prodigious
popular success of them can easily be realised. These cards, it should
be added, were all produced by chromolithography, each one needing, on
the average, twelve stones.
In dealing with the iconographies of ‘the work of certain artists of
importance,’ who were represented in the great decade of Christmas card
production by more than a single set of cards, Gleeson White rightly
accorded to Kate Greenaway the premier place, and wrote:
Miss Kate Greenaway has preserved no complete set of her own
designs—nor have her publishers: hence collectors must needs exercise
their ingenuity to discover which of the many unsigned cards that appear
to be hers are genuine and which are imitations. After the success of
her first popular series (issued, as were the majority, by Marcus Ward),
it is easy enough to discard the too faithful disciples who never once
caught her peculiar charm. But in the earlier of hers, when her manner
was less pronounced, even the publishers are not always absolutely
certain regarding the authorship of several designs.[21]
But this section of her work, important though it was in the early
development of the Kate Greenaway we know, and interesting though it
is to the collector of her work, was merely a by-path in the direction
she was travelling. She was now, in truth, on the high-road to fame and
success. The next year (1879) she was hard at work on her _Birthday
Book_, a duodecimo volume with verses by Mrs. Sale Barker. It was
published in 1880, and 128,000 English, 13,500 French, and 8,500
German copies were placed on the market. For the 382 tiny drawings,
370 of which were minute uncoloured figures, she received £151: 10s.,
whilst the royalties (not, of course, received all at once) exceeded
£1,100.[22] Every day had its own delightful little pictorial conceit,
and each month had a full page in colour in her happiest manner. ‘Good
Evans!’ exclaimed a perfectly respectable newspaper at the sight of
them.
Later on, at Mr. Evans’s suggestion, Kate Greenaway coloured a certain
number of the little wood-engravings, with the idea of publishing them
in a separate volume. From these Mr. Evans engraved the colour blocks
and bound up a few copies, but no title was decided upon, and the book
was never even offered to the publishers. Should one of these little
proof copies ever come into the sale-room, some lively bidding may be
looked for.
But perhaps the most interesting thing connected with the _Birthday
Book_ is the fact, which we learn from Mr. Graham Balfour, that Robert
Louis Stevenson was first prompted by it to try his hand at those
charming verses for children which were afterwards published in the
_Child’s Garden of Verse_. ‘Louis took the _Birthday Book_ up one day,’
says Mr. Balfour, ‘and saying, “These are rather nice rhymes, and I
don’t think they would be very difficult to do,” proceeded to try his
hand.’
In this year also Miss Greenaway was commissioned by Messrs. Macmillan
& Co. to illustrate a new edition of Miss Yonge’s novels. But after
finishing four drawings for the _Heir of Redclyffe_ and three for
_Heartsease_, she threw up the task. She recognised at the end that she
was not entirely competent to carry out such work, as she had declared
from the beginning her extreme indisposition to enter upon it. The
drawings are capital, but hardly appropriate, and excellently as they
were cut on wood by Swain, they failed of their effect. For the young
man in these drawings Kate impressed her brother John as model; and her
father is to be recognised in the frontispiece, in the figure of Percy
holding his cherished umbrella over the person of Theodora.
For the same firm Kate also drew, as has been said, a delightful
frontispiece for _Amateur Theatricals_, by Mr. Walter Herries Pollock
and Lady Pollock in the ‘Art at Home Series,’ edited by the Rev. W.
J. Loftie. Other drawings appeared in _St. Nicholas_, among which
should be mentioned illustrations to Tom Hughes’ ‘Beating the Bounds,’
‘Children’s Day in St. Paul’s,’ and Mrs. Dodge’s ‘Calling the Flowers,’
‘The Little Big Woman and the Big Little Girl,’ and ‘Seeing is
Believing.’
The drawing called ‘Misses,’ which Kate sent this year to the Royal
Academy, was less attractive to some than its foregoers. _Fun_ fixed
upon its title in a critical couplet in the course of a very cutting
rhyming review of the exhibition entitled ‘The Budget at Burlington
House,’ and proceeded:
A picture by Miss Greenaway (we scarcely like a bit of it)
Is rightly titled ‘Misses,’ for she hasn’t made a hit of it.
The popular interest in Miss Greenaway then and thenceforward may be
partly gauged by the great sheaf of applications for biographical
information addressed to her by the editors of various magazines, found
among her papers. But she hated publicity at all times. Especially did
she fear and detest the attentions of interviewers, and she did her
best to escape them. In a letter of a later date to Miss Lily Evans she
says:
My mind is dull to-night. I feel like what I was described in one of
the notices of the P.V. [Private View], as a gentle, bespectacled,
_middle_-aged lady _garbed_ in black. Somehow it sounds as if I was
like a little mouse. I don’t feel gentle at all. See what it is to grow
old! I _have_ passed a time avoiding interviewers—no wonder they take
revenge!
And when Herr Emil Hannover sought to write a critical and personal
study on the artist, he received, as he records, a note from her in
which she writes with characteristic reserve and dignity:
You must wait till I am dead; till then I wish to live my life
privately—like an English gentlewoman.
Publishers, too, vied with one another in seeking her services, and a
bare list of commissions offered but not taken in the years immediately
succeeding would fill pages of this book. Indeed, if we may judge from
her correspondence, every amateur who wrote a fairy story or a child’s
book or a book of verses, and wished to float it on the sea of her
popularity, applied to her to illustrate it. One of them thinks that
the ‘kind praise received from various editors’ should be sufficient
recommendation. Another flourishes ‘seven small children.’ Another
appeal to her charity and generosity is from a clergyman’s wife; she
is in _very_ delicate health, her income does not permit of her doing
the things which her medical man tells her would greatly benefit her,
and so on, and she would be so much obliged if Miss Greenaway would
make her verses saleable by illustrating them. Pathetic requests of
this sort must have affected her tender heart as deeply as Thackeray’s
‘Thorns in the Cushion’ touched his.
Another, a German composer, puts her verses to music, and with a sense
of morality about on a par with his English writes, in the strain well
known to successful British authors:
‘In Germany every composer has a right over publishing each song by
composition without paying any honorary to the poet, therefor the editor
would not be obliged to hesitate in publishing your songs in the German
translation with melodies. But since it is of importance for me that my
composition also _find a spreading in England_,’ etc. etc., he offers
‘one hundred mark [£5] for twelve of your poems.’
It need hardly be said that to this half-threat, half-insult Kate made
no response.
Further evidence of Miss Greenaway’s vogue at this time may be gathered
from information which Mr. J. Russell Endean has been good enough to
provide. He says that shortly after the issue of _Under the Window_,
Herr Fischer, of the Royal and Imperial Porcelain Majolica Manufactory,
Buda Pesth, showed him half-a-dozen employés, with a copy of the book
lying before each of them, at work in the artist’s atelier, copying the
illustrations upon china plates which had been twice fired, line for
line, size for size, and group for group.
To this Herr Fischer himself adds: ‘It is a fact that Kate Greenaway
was copied in my factory, and I can certainly further affirm that all
the books which appeared in the ‘eighties were used, and large business
was done with the pictures.’
This annexation of copyright British designs by German china
manufacturers, however, is in no way unusual. As we write these lines
there is brought before us an excellent but wholly unauthorised
reproduction upon a porcelain vase decorated with one of Mr. C.
Wilhelm’s beautiful drawings of dainty animated flowers, a design in
which Kate Greenaway would assuredly have rejoiced.
H. Stacy Marks, R.A., it has been said, was one of Miss Greenaway’s
most valued and helpful friends. The letters of this year that follow
show how sincere and kind he was, and how candid a critic. A constant
visitor and adviser, and an ardent admirer of her work from early
years, he did more than any one to encourage her, to foster her genius,
and to bring her into notice. Always seeking eagerly for her criticism
of his own work, he was not sparing in his kindly comments on hers.
This he held to be not only a duty but, in a sense, a necessity, for
he felt that she must justify the advice he had given her to proceed
along the path she had discovered for herself, when others, declaring
she was blundering into failure, were loudly conjuring her to be more
conventional, and to suppress her charming individuality.
H. STACY MARKS, R.A., TO KATE GREENAWAY
_October 22, 1879._
Dear Miss Greenaway—Very many thanks for your very pretty and charming
book,[23] which has afforded me and my household much pleasure. Where so
many designs are delightful, it seems hard to select any special one,
but I think, as a happy method of filling up a page, the girls with the
shuttlecocks bears the palm; and how useful is the verse between! [p.
33].
I like page 41 for its naïve defiance of all rules of composition, and
pages 23 and 47 are very sweet.
I am not going to be ‘severe,’ but I _must_ ask you not to repeat those
funny little black shadows under the feet of your figures—looking in
some places like spurs, in others like tadpoles, in others like short
stilts. _Vide_ cat and children on page 53 for the last, page 39 for the
tadpoles, and pages 10 and 30 for spurs. Why you have done this (much to
the detriment of the drawings) in special instances and not in others I
can’t see. I will only find another fault—the drawing of the _feet_ on
page 31—the tallest girl’s are very funny, but all are queer. A cast of
any foot placed a little below the level of the eye would teach you how
to foreshorten feet better.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE GO-CART.
_From a water-colour drawing in the possession of Harry J. Veitch,
Esq._]
There, I have done! But I know you well enough to feel assured that
you would not be content with unqualified praise, and that you are
grateful for a little honest criticism.
Don’t bother about painting too much. You have a _lay_ of your own, and
do your best to cultivate it.
Think of the large number of people you charm and delight by these
designs compared with those who can afford to buy paintings. You have a
special gift and it is your duty in every sense to make the most of it.
By the way, did you write the verses also? If so, there is another
feather for your cap, for I know how difficult it is to write verses
for children.
I hope I have not sermonised too much, and thanking you once more for
your pleasant, happy book, to which I shall turn again and again, I am,
faithfully yours,
H. S. MARKS.
H. STACY MARKS TO KATE GREENAWAY
_November 3, 1879._
... Mr. Ruskin dined here on Thursday last, and spoke in high terms of
your feeling for children, etc. I think it not unlikely that you may
have a letter from him soon.
One more word of advice—although I almost believe you have too much
common-sense to need it—don’t let _any_ success or praise make you
puffed up or conceited, but keep humble and try to perfect yourself more
in your art each day—and never sell your independence by hasty or badly
considered work.
I have seen so many spoiled by success that I raise my warning voice to
you.
And sure enough before three months were out Mr. Ruskin did make it his
business to write and give her shrewd and humorous advice. The first
letter is dated 1879, but that which follows it shows that this is a
mistake: like a great many other people, he found it hard to adopt a
new date at the beginning of a new year. Ruskin and Kate Greenaway,
whose friendship was soon to ripen into a happy intimacy, shared by his
household, did not meet face to face until 1882. He writes in his more
fantastic and playful vein.
JOHN RUSKIN TO KATE GREENAWAY
BRANTWOOD, CONISTON,
_Jan. 6th, 1879_ [a mistake for 1880].
My dear Miss Greenaway—I lay awake half (no a quarter) of last night
thinking of the hundred things I want to say to you—and never shall get
said!—and I’m giddy and weary—and now can’t say even half or a quarter
of one out of the hundred. They’re about you—and your gifts—and your
graces—and your fancies—and your—yes—perhaps one or two little
tiny faults:—and about other people—children, and grey-haired, and
what you could do for them—if you once made up your mind for whom you
would do it. For children _only_ for instance?—or for old people, _me_
for instance—and _of_ children and old people—whether for those of
1880—only—or of 18—8—9—10—11—12—20—0—0—0—0, etc. etc. etc.
Or more simply annual or perennial.
Well, of the thousand things—it was nearer a thousand than a
hundred—this is anyhow the first. Will you please tell me whether
you can only draw these things out of your head—or could, if you
chose, draw them with the necessary modifications from nature?
For instance—Down in Kent the other day I saw many more lovely
farm-houses—many more pretty landscapes—than any in your book. But
the farms had, perhaps, a steam-engine in the yard—the landscapes a
railroad in the valley. Now, do you never want to draw such houses and
places, as they used to be, and might be?
That’s No. 1.
No. 2 of the thousand.
Do you only draw pretty children out of your head? In my parish school
there are at least twenty prettier than any in your book—but they
are in costumes neither graceful nor comic—they are not like blue
china—they are not like mushrooms—they are like—very ill-dressed
Angels. Could you draw groups of these as they _are_?
No. 3 of the thousand.
Did you ever see a book called Flitters, Tatters, and the Councillor?[24]
No. 4 of the thousand.
Do you ever see the blue sky? and when you do, do you like it?
No. 5.
Is a witch’s ride on a broomstick[25] the only chivalry you think it
desirable to remind the glorious Nineteenth Century of?
No. 6.—Do you believe in Fairies?
No. 7.—In ghosts?
No. 8.—In Principalities or Powers?
No. 9.—In Heaven?
No. 10.—In-Any where else?
No. 11.—Did you ever see Chartres Cathedral?
No. 12.—Did you ever study, there or elsewhere, thirteenth century
glass?
No. 13.—Do you ever go to the MS. room of the British Museum?
No. 14.—Heavy outline will not go with strong colour—but if so, do you
never intend to draw with delicate outline?
No. 15.—Will you please forgive me—and tell me—some of those things
I’ve asked?—Ever gratefully yours,
J. RUSKIN.
To this letter Miss Greenaway responded at once, and he writes again:—
JOHN RUSKIN TO KATE GREENAWAY
BRANTWOOD, CONISTON,
_Jan. 15th. 1880._
Dear Miss Greenaway—How delightful of you to answer all my
questions!—and to read _Fors_! I never dreamed you were one of my
readers—and I had rather you read that than anything else of mine, and
rather _you_ read it than anybody else.
I am so delighted also with your really liking blue sky—and those
actual cottages, and that you’ve never been abroad. And that’s all I can
say to-day, but only this, that I think from what you tell me, you will
feel with me, in my wanting you to try the experiment of representing
any actual piece of nature (however little) as it really is, yet in the
modified harmony of colour necessary for printing—making a simple study
first as an ordinary water-colour sketch, and then translating it into
outline and the few advisable tints, so as to be able to say—The sun
was in or out,—it was here, or there, and the gown, or the paling, was
of this colour on one side, and of that on the other.
I believe your lovely design and grouping will come out all the brighter
and richer for such exercise. And then—when the question of absolute
translation is once answered, that of conventional change may be met on
its separate terms, securely.—Ever gratefully yours,
J. RUSKIN.
JOHN RUSKIN TO KATE GREENAWAY
BRANTWOOD, CONISTON,
_Dec. 7th. /80._
Dear Miss Greenaway—I have just got home and find the lovely little
book and the drawing! I had carried your letter in the safest recess of
my desk through all the cathedral towns in Picardy,—thinking every day
to get away for home (Now is there any little misery of life worse than
a hair in one’s best pen?), and to see my treasure, and I never _got_
away! and now what an ungrateful wretch you must think me!
But—alas—do you know you have done me more grief than good for the
moment? The drawing is so boundlessly more beautiful than the woodcut
that I shall have no peace of mind till I’ve come to see you and seen
some more drawings, and told you—face to face—what a great and blessed
gift you have—too great, in the ease of it, for you to feel yourself.
These books are lovely things but, as far as I can guess, from looking
at this drawing, your proper work would be in glass painting—where your
own touch, your own colour, would be safe for ever,—seen, in sacred
places, by multitudes—copied, by others, for story books—but _your_
whole strength put in pure first perfectness on the enduring material.
Have you ever thought of this?
Please tell me if you get this note. I am so ashamed of not writing
before.—Ever your grateful and devoted
J. RUSKIN.
JOHN RUSKIN TO KATE GREENAWAY
BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, LANCASHIRE,
_Day after Xmas_, 1880.
Dear Miss Greenaway—I have not been able to write because I want to
write so much—both of thanks and petition, since your last letter.
Petition—not about the promised drawing: though it will be beyond
telling precious to me; I don’t want you to work, even for a moment, for
_me_—but I do want you never to work a moment but in permanent material
and for—‘all people, who on earth do dwell.’
I have lying on the table as I write, your little Christmas card,
‘Luck go with you, pretty lass.’ To my mind it is a greater thing than
Raphael’s St. Cecilia.
But you must paint it—paint all things—well, and for ever.
Holbein left his bitter legacy to the Eternities—The Dance of Death.
Leave you yours—The Dance of Life.—Ever your grateful and glad
JOHN RUSKIN.
Towards the end of this year Stacy Marks again wrote:
... I will say no more now than to congratulate you on your success,
in which I heartily rejoice—the more so as it does not destroy the
simplicity of your nature, or make you relax in your efforts after
excellence.
You have found a path for yourself, and though you kindly think I have
helped to remove some of the obstacles that beset that path, I can claim
no credit myself for having done so.
[Illustration: KATE GREENAWAY, 1880.
_From a photograph by Elliott & Fry._]
The year 1880 found her still working on the _Illustrated London News_,
and exhibiting and selling her pictures at the Royal Academy (‘Little
Girl with Fan’) and the Dudley Gallery. She also made a drawing,
beautifully cut by O. Lacour, for _The Library_ (Macmillan), written
by Mr. Andrew Lang and Mr. Austin Dobson, to be published in 1881.
Concerning this Mr. Dobson wrote:
How I envy you this captivating talent. And how lucky the little people
are to get such pictures! I can’t help thinking that I should have been
a better man if I had had such pleasant play-books in my inartistic
childhood. You have a most definite and special walk, and I hope you
won’t let any one persuade you out of it. I have seen some imitations of
you lately which convince me—if indeed I needed conviction—that you
have little to fear from rivalry.
This year also was published a particularly charming frontispiece to
the annual volume of _Little Wide-Awake_, issued by Messrs. Routledge.
Other coloured frontispieces and title-pages well worthy of the
collector’s attention were done for several volumes of the same firm’s
_Every Girl’s Annual_, and _The Girl’s Own Paper_. But Kate’s output
at this period was so great that it is impossible to do more than
specify a few of her detached productions. Other events of this year
were the translation of her verses in _Under the Window_ into German
by Frau Käthe Freiligrath-Kröker; a request from John Hullah, whose
acquaintance she had just made, to set some of her ‘admirable’ verses
to music for a new edition of his book on ‘Time and Tune’; and an
invitation to contribute to the Grosvenor Gallery Exhibition.
The appearance of _Under the Window_ (_Am Fenster_) in Germany was
hailed with delight by the critics. Herr Trojan, writing in the
_National Zeitung_, labelled it ‘a small masterpiece of original stamp,
out-and-out English, but acceptable to the inhabitants, great and
small, of all other civilised nations.’ The only objections to it in
its new form were the rather too free treatment of the letterpress by
the translator and the very unnecessary Germanicising of the children’s
names.
In the same year Miss Greenaway began fully to realise the value of her
drawings done for publication, and henceforward made it an inflexible
rule to retain the drawings themselves and sell only the _use_ of them.
But by far the most important occurrence at this time was the beginning
of her personal acquaintance with Mr. Frederick Locker, better known
to-day as Frederick Locker-Lampson. He had, as we know, heard of her
from Mr. Evans two years earlier, in connection with her verses for
_Under the Window_. Now she was to become an intimate friend of the
family and a constant visitor at Rowfant and Newhaven Court. Of one of
these visits she writes:
I’ve been living in very distinguished society. They have a lovely
house at Cromer, and it is a beautiful place—such a fine sea and such
beautiful ponds and commons, also lots of beautiful houses to be seen
about. I went to the most beautiful one I have ever seen—and such a
garden, a perfect wonder—such flowers, it looked like June instead of
September. There were many flowers I had never seen before; it was a
beautiful place.
This year was also notable for what must have been a red-letter day in
her life—a red-letter day, it has often been said, in the public life
of anybody. Most people like the attention of polite press-notices,
but who is not a little bit the prouder when ‘the little rascal of
Fleet Street’ first considers him worthy of his flattering notice? Now
for the first time Kate appeared in _Punch_, in an important drawing
entitled ‘Christmas is Coming!’ (Dec. 4, vol. lxxix. p. 254), made by
the masterly pencil of Mr. Linley Sambourne. Miss Greenaway heralded
the event, or at least the preparations for it, in a letter to Mr.
Frederick Locker.
[Illustration: FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON.
_From the Water-Colour Drawing by Kate Greenaway. In the possession of
Mrs. Locker-Lampson._]
KATE GREENAWAY TO FREDERICK LOCKER
_27 Nov. 1880._
I heard again in a hurry from Linley Sambourne, and had to rush off
yesterday in a great hurry and get a photo taken; I had to send him
simply a negative. So what I shall turn out like I dare not think, even
if he could use it at all. I am curious to see what is going to be made
of us all—if we are going to have large heads and little bodies, or
how we are going to be made funny.... I really feel quite cross as I
look at the shop windows and see the imitation books. It feels so queer,
somehow, to see your ideas taken by some one else and put forth as
theirs. I suppose next year they will be all little birthday books, in
shape and sort.
[It is clear that Mr. Austin Dobson’s assurances had not soothed or
convinced her.]
Those little Bewick drawings haunt me—they are so wonderfully different
to most that are done. It is a pity there is no way of reproducing such
fine work.
In Mr. Sambourne’s drawing, Mr. Punch, ‘at home,’ is invaded by a
flight and crowd of artists, writers, and publishers of children’s
books—by Kate Greenaway, Caldecott, Stacy Marks, Mr. Harrison Weir,
Mr. Crane, and Mrs. Sale Barker, by Messrs. Macmillan, William Marcus
Ward, Bradbury, Edmund Routledge, De la Rue, Hildesheimer, Duffield,
and Walker, all caterers for the little ones, ‘for all children,’ says
_Punch_, in the accompanying text, ‘are Mr. Punch’s pets. Let’s see
what you’ve got,’ and forthwith he gives the place of honour to Miss
Kate Greenaway, and warmly congratulates her on her _Birthday Book for
Children_, ‘a most dainty little work and a really happy thought for
Christmas.’ And a mother and her children are shown listening behind
the door to Mr. Punch’s declaration.
This was in itself a gratifying evidence of Miss Greenaway’s
popularity, but that it did not give much satisfaction to her friends
is demonstrated by a letter from Miss Anderson, who wrote, ‘Thank you
so much for sending me the _Punch_. I had the greatest difficulty in
finding your portrait. What a horror! It is actionable really!’ The
fact is, the photograph from which the sketch was made was unflattering
in the extreme.
‘K. G.’ was destined several times to engage _Punch’s_ attention,
but it may safely be said that no press notice ever gave her greater
pleasure than that which attended her first appearance in his pages.
[Illustration: Book-plate designed for Frederick Locker (F.
Locker-Lampson) by Kate Greenaway.]
Many of Kate’s happiest hours were spent in Frederick Locker’s
company. One day they would go to the National Gallery to gloat over
some of their ‘darling pictures,’ another day to the British Museum,
or Noseda’s in the Strand to discuss prints, or to Harvey’s, the
printseller, in St. James’s Street. Another day would find them at the
Flaxman Gallery (‘What a Flaxman gift you have,’ he said one day), or
at the ‘Arts and Crafts Exhibition,’ at a private view of the Grosvenor
Gallery, or at Colnaghi’s to discuss the purchase of a mezzotint.
Through him she seems to have become acquainted with Browning and his
sister in 1882, and with the Tennyson family, with whom she became on
intimate terms. His letters to her, which run into hundreds, teem with
advice, encouragement, and warning. In one of them (Nov. 28, 1882) he
says:
It has occurred to me that you are about the only English artist who
has ever been the fashion in France. Bonington and Constable are
appreciated, but not more than appreciated. I think anybody writing
about you should notice this important fact.
[Illustration: PINK RIBBONS.
‘Girl with pink roses and pink ribbons.’
_From a water-colour drawing in the possession of Stuart M. Samuel,
Esq., M.P._]
That same year she designed a book-plate for him. This was, it seems,
with slight alterations reproduced as frontispiece to the edition of
his _London Lyrics_ published by Scribner in America. She also did
book-plates for other members of the family. Discussing them in 1892,
he writes:
There is a mystery about book-plates only known to certain initiated
ones, like Lord de Tabley. They must not be pictorial and they must
fulfil certain conditions. Now all that you have done for us, and they
are many, fully satisfy _my_ aspirations.
She also did two coloured portraits of him, now in the possession of
Mrs. Locker-Lampson.
In 1883 she was amused to discover that her popularity was so great
in Germany that she was claimed there as a German. Even the German
poet who was her father was named, and—for Germans are nothing if not
circumstantial—it was said that he was obliged to leave Germany in
1848 and went to live in England, where he was many years engaged in a
house of business in the City, and that in later years he had returned
to Germany. They gave the name of the street (Grüne Weg) in Düsseldorf
where she lived, and stated that on publishing her first book Kate
translated the name of the street into English and took it as her
_nom-de-plume_! Thus is history sometimes made.
Mr. Frederick Locker-Lampson was a great admirer of her art, and when
he heard that Ruskin said in 1883 that she should aim at something
higher, he laconically, and wisely, warned her to ‘Beware.’ In the same
strain he had written to her the year before:
You must not be down-hearted about your art, or feel depressed when you
gaze at Crane’s productions. Each has his or her merit, and there is
room for all. All I beg is, that you will not rashly change your style.
Vary it, but do not change it.
This advice was called forth by the following letter:—
KATE GREENAWAY TO FREDERICK LOCKER
_24 May, 1882._
I’ve been to call on the Caldecotts to-day with Mrs. Evans. My brother
showed me some of his (Mr. Caldecott’s) new drawings yesterday at
Racquet Court. They are so uncommonly clever. The Dish running away with
the Spoon—you can’t think how much he has made of it. I wish I had
such a mind. I’m feeling very low about my own powers just now, for I
have been looking at the originals for the new Crane book. Some of them
are literally dreams of beauty. I do wish you could see them. There is
one—a long low design of a Harvest Home. I shall try, I think, to get
it, but so many are so lovely it is difficult to fix on the best.
I have just got a first proof of my little Almanack (be sure you don’t
mention anything about it to any one except Mrs. Locker). Mr. Evans
wants me to write a little verse to put on a blank page in it. I shall
get you to look at it when I have done it.
He inoculated her with his irrepressible love of collecting, and
when she came to have a house of her own, acted as her adviser in
beautifying it. For example, he wrote in 1882:
I saw a little Bow figure (china) to-day at the shop to which this card
is the address (Fenton and Sons, Holywell Street), a figure as tall as
your dancing lady that I gave you. She is in a green jacket. Look at it
as you go to the National Gallery on Friday. He asks £2: 10s. for it and
you might get it for £2. It has been injured, but I rather like it, and
I think it is genuine, and probably Bow or Chelsea. Now mind you go and
see it or I shall be cross. It will only be five minutes out of your
way. You will see it in the window.
One day he would send her ‘a little stool, not a stool of Repentance,
either to sit on or on which to put the books or papers you are
reading’; and another day, ‘a new edition of my _Lyra Elegantiarum_.
It is a hideous book and costs 1s. 6d.’ Another day there arrived a
flower-stand, ‘which comes from Venice, and I hope is decorative’; on
another the _Athenæum_ (Dec. 1886), which is ‘full of your praises’;
and on yet another day, a letter in which he says, ‘I have told a man
to send you two little Stothards which may or may not be pretty, but
which are curious from their scarcity. One is called “Just Breeched”
and the other “Giving a Bite.”’
In return, she showered upon him and his family drawings and copies of
her books, in addition to the considerable number which he purchased.
Indeed, so generous was she in this respect that in 1883 he wrote:
I was shocked to receive [the drawing], coming as it did after the
beautiful drawing you gave Mrs. Locker. Why should you waste your time
on me? It is heart-breaking to think of, when your spare time is so
valuable and you have so little of it. You must send me no more. I say
it seriously. No more. I have plenty, plenty to remember you by, and
when I am gone, enough to show my children the kind feeling you had for
me. Work away, but for yourself—for your new house and for others more
worthy.
[Illustration: THE TWINS.
_Two pages from the little MS. volume, measuring about 3¼ × 2½
inches, entitled “Babies and Blossoms.” Drawn by Kate Greenaway
and written by Frederick Locker. (In the possession of Mrs.
Locker-Lampson.)_
The Twins
Yes, there they lie, so small, so quaint,
Two mouths, two noses, & two chins;
What painter shall we get to paint
And glorify the twins?
In tiny cloaks & coral-bells,
And all those other pleasant spells
Of babyhood? And not forget
The silver mug for either pet,
No babe should be without it:
Come, Fairy Limner, you can thrill
Our hearts with pink & daffodil
And white rosette & dimpled frill;
Come, paint our little Jack & Jill—
And don’t be long about it!
]
[Illustration: LITTLE DINKY.
Two pages from the little MS. volume, measuring about 3¼ × 2½
inches, entitled “Babies and Blossoms.” Drawn by Kate Greenaway
and written by Frederick Locker. (In the possession of Mrs.
Locker-Lampson.)]
Dorothy.
Text of poem in right-side image:
Little Dinky.
The hair she means to have is gold,
Her eyes are blue, she’s twelve weeks old.
Plump are her fists & pinky.
She flutter’d down in lucky hour
From some blue deep in yon sky bower—
I call her little Dinky.
A Tiny now, ere long she’ll please
To totter at my parent-knees,
And crow, & try to chatter;
And soon she’ll take to fair white frocks
And frisk about in shoes & socks—
Her totter changed to patter.
And soon she’ll play, ay, soon enough,
At cowslip ball, & blindman’s buff;
And some day, we shall find her
Grow weary of her toys, indeed
She’ll fling them all aside, to heed
A footstep close behind her.
KG.
]
Her gratitude for attentions paid or gifts presented was always deeply
felt, and prettily acknowledged and expressed. Thus:
KATE GREENAWAY TO FREDERICK LOCKER
_27 Aug: 1880._
... The beautiful little red book! I expect I was very horrid and did
not thank you at all, and you thought ‘_She_ is very ungrateful; she
might have been a little pleased, when I had taken that trouble to give
her pleasure.’
When people are very very kind—well—when they are very kind, I think I
am so glad I can’t say anything to tell them so. And so I send you now
very many thanks for your kindness and the pleasure you gave me.
I think you will be pleased to know that the _Birthday Book_ seems to
be going to turn out a selling success—5,000 for America, 3,000 for
Germany, and the rest going off so well that they are ordering paper for
another edition. This first edition is 50,000—so I am looking forward
with rejoicing to future pounds and pennies, uncommonly nice possessions.
He was for ever begging her not to overwork herself, fearing that her
health and bread-winning powers might fail. For example, he wrote in
1882:
I hope when you get home you will get to work, but take it quite easily
(say two or three hours a day), and try to be beforehand with the
publishers, etc., and _not let_ anything interfere with or stop your
daily moderate work.
Sometimes he feigned jealousy of her devotion to Mr. Ruskin and others.
In 1884: ‘I daresay that Ruskin is sunning his unworthy self in your
smiles. I hope he is impressed with his good fortune.’ In 1885:
‘You must let me be one of your first visitors to the new house [at
Hampstead]. What will you call it? The Villa Ruskin or Dobson Lodge, or
what?’
He would get her to colour prints for him, and would watch for
commissions for her.
‘I saw Pears of Pears’ Soap this morning,’ he wrote in 1889; ‘such a
good fellow. Will you do something for him? I am quite serious. I think
you might do it without degrading your art.’
They did not always agree in their opinions, but he could make a pretty
_amende_. In 1893 he wrote:
I remember we disputed at Cromer. I was irritable and you
were—irrational. That is not the right word—but you enunciated
opinions that I thought were not sound, and I was stupid enough not to
agree with you, for, as Prior says, _you_ had the best of the argument,
for ‘_your eyes_ were always in the right.’ Time is too short for these
arguments, at least so I think, so let us have no more.
Occasionally they would discuss more serious topics, and a letter would
be drawn from Kate with charming glimpses of self-revelation. For
example:
KATE GREENAWAY TO FREDERICK LOCKER
_7 Ap: 1881._
No, I do not feel angry with the notice of Carlyle—that, I think,
expresses very much what I feel—but I do feel angry with the letter,
which seems to me commonplace in the extreme, by a man of an utterly
different mind. I do like, and I most sincerely hope that whilst I
possess life I may venerate and admire with unstinted admiration, this
sort of noble and great men. They seem to me to be so far above and
beyond ordinary people, so much worth trying to be a little like—and
I feel they talk to such unhearing ears. The fact is, most people like
to lead the lives that are enjoyment and pleasure to themselves; and
pleasing oneself does not make a noble life. But I must _tell_ you what
I mean, for I never can write well....
Also, when you come I want you to read a chapter in _Sartor Resartus_.
It is called the _Everlasting Yea_. It is beautiful; and it is when he
has given up all selfish feeling for himself and feels in sympathy with
the whole world.
Frederick Locker would write special verses for her Christmas cards.
He criticised her drawings, interjecting in his letters with curious
abruptness and delightful irrelevancy, as though half afraid of his
temerity, such remarks as: ‘Do you think the Bride sitting under the
tree is so feeble that she could not stand up?’ or ‘Are the young
lady’s arms (sitting under the tree) like cloth sausages?’ and then
promptly passing on to other subjects.
[Illustration: FROM CAREFULLY EXECUTED WATER-COLOUR DRAWINGS ON LETTERS
ADDRESSED TO MRS. FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON.]
At her request he also criticised her verse. Here is an example:—
You ask me to do what Shelley would have had a difficulty in doing. Are
you aware that your poem, as it stands, is only not prose because of the
inversions? and it has neither rhythm, metre, nor rhyme, excepting ‘fun’
and ‘done,’ which is _not_ a rhyme to the eye.
‘Let me lie quietly in the Sunshine on God’s green grass, for the laugh
and fun is (? are) over and God’s day is nearly done.’
I defy Shelley, or any one, to rhyme those short lines—in the childish
language you want. It is not possible. You must either lengthen the
lines—or allow yourself a more free and complex diction.
Something like this:
The sun is warm, so let me lie
And sweetly rest.
The grass is soft and that is why
I like it best.
The games are over that made us gay—
And all the fun.
The sun is dying, so God’s fair day
Is nearly done.
Then he would advise her how to take criticism:—
You must be influenced by what the critics say up to a certain
point—but not beyond. It is very annoying to be misunderstood and to
see critics trying to show off their own cleverness, but you are now
paying the penalty of _success_, and Tennyson suffers from it, and
your friend Ruskin and Carlyle and all who make their mark in works of
imagination. I _quite_ feel what you say about Ruskin. There _does_
seem to be a ‘holiness’ about his words and ideas. I am very glad he
telegraphed to you, and wrote. His opinion is worth all the commonplace
critics put together, and worth more than the opinion of nineteen out of
twenty Royal Academicians.
Again, when one of the critics had complained of the lack of vitality
and the woe-begone expression in her children’s faces, he consoled her
and criticised her together:—
_Sept. 1881._
I have been thinking over what I said about expression in your faces. I
do not think it would suit the style and spirit of your pictures if they
were exactly _gay_ children—but at present the same sort of complaint
might be made about them that is made about Burne-Jones’s, and with more
reason, for nearly all the subjects you treat of are cheerful, and some
playful, and none are classic or tragic. There is no doubt that B.-J. is
wrong and the critics are right, but still I am grateful to B.-J. and
take thankfully what he gives me, and think it very beautiful, but I
cannot but feel its monotony of expression. Any mirth in your pictures
should be quite of the subdued kind, such as you see in those delicious
pictures of Stothard. Just get out the volume that you have and look
at ‘Hunt the Slipper’ and many others, and you will see exactly what I
want. You also see it in Reynolds, but often overdone, and more overdone
in Romney and what I call the ‘roguish’ school. Leech has often children
that look very happy without an absolute smile. You must make your faces
look _happy_.
To this she replied in a letter from Pemberton Gardens:—
KATE GREENAWAY TO FREDERICK LOCKER
... You are quite right about the expressions. Of course, it is absurd
for children to be having a game and for their faces to be plunged in
the deepest despair and sadness. I shall bear it in mind, and I hope to
do better in my next.
The deep colour you complain of in some is due to hurry, I’m afraid.
There was no time to prove this book, and I never had any proof for
correction at all, for Mr. Evans said it was impossible, it must go; and
some of the darker ones suffer in consequence. I know you imagine I’m
always having them for correction, and sending them back and back again;
but that is not so....
I’ve found a good subject for you to exercise your energy upon, namely,
the Penny Postage stamp. Get the colour changed and you will confer a
benefit on everybody. The old Penny Stamp was a good red. Then they
changed to a worse; and now to this detestable purple colour. I never
put one on a letter without hating the sight of it. I can’t tell you how
bitter I feel. They ought to study colour in all things.
I feel a competent judge to-day, because I flatter myself
that this morning I have executed a drawing which for colour
is—is—is—too—too—too—— as I look at it I feel happy. (Compare
feeling for postage stamps.)
[Illustration: ‘A CALM IN A TEA-CUP.’
_From a water-colour drawing in the possession of Mrs. Arthur
Severn._]
It is a girl walking a baby; she has an orange spotted dress and a
yellow hat with a green wreath round it, and the baby has a white frock
with a blue sash and blue toes. Do you see the picture?
Your little baby girl seems to me as if she ought always to wear a coral
necklace and have blue bows to tie up her shoes.
To the same subject of solemn expression in her children Mr. Locker
returns in 1882:
I was looking at your sketch of the ‘little giddy laugh,’ and I really
think it is the only figure of yours I know that has a smile on its face.
He kept a sharp eye on her employers, too, and helped her in business
matters. In 1881 he wrote:
—— told me you were engaged on two works for his house, in one of which
you were associated with Crane and Caldecott. Now remember you are to be
treated on as handsome terms as those two gentlemen or I shall not be
satisfied. We must find out what they are to receive.
When his twins were born he called upon her to paint them, embodying
his request in the following charming lines:—
Yes, there they lie, so small, so quaint—
Two mouths, two noses, and two chins—
What painter shall we get to paint
And glorify the twins?
To give us all the charm that dwells
In tiny cloaks and coral bells,
And all those other pleasant spells
Of babyhood;—and don’t forget
The silver mug for either pet;
No babe should be without it:
Come, fairy Limner, you can thrill,
Our hearts with pink and daffodil
And white rosette and dimpled frill;
Come paint our little Jack and Jill—
And don’t be long about it!
And sometimes Kate would take Locker in hand and talk about _his_ work.
‘So it is a little French poem you have been translating,’ she
writes. ‘I wish you would do more of that sort of thing—and some new
_originals_ too; then I would do the illustrations to them.’
The proposal was seriously considered for a time, but never was carried
into execution—at least, for publication. What happened was this.
Locker-Lampson had written a number of poems on his children (published
in 1881), and as a surprise present for his wife Kate Greenaway made a
series of drawings in a tiny MS. volume, and the poet copied his verses
on to the pages in his beautiful handwriting. This, he afterwards told
Mrs. Locker-Lampson, was the most anxious experience of his life; for
the drawings were done first, and he was in agony all the time lest he
should make a mistake or a blot. The result of the collaboration is one
of the most exquisite little _bibelots_ it is possible to imagine, and
the pretty title of it, ‘Babies and Blossoms.’
Their delightful friendship lasted for fifteen years, and when he died
in 1895 his son wrote to her: ‘A son has lost the most dear father a
son ever had, and friends the truest friend a friend ever had.’
An equal favourite, too, with Mrs. Locker-Lampson and with her
children, to whom in 1883 she had dedicated _Little Ann_, embellishing
the page with their four portraits, Miss Greenaway continued her visits
after Mr. Locker-Lampson’s death. She played hockey with them, and
entered heartily into all their games. She ‘corrected’ Miss Dorothy
Locker-Lampson’s drawings, and she sent priceless little drawings of
her own to Godfrey Locker-Lampson at Eton. Of the last of the visits
one of them wrote: ‘It was such tremendous fun having you here, and you
so enter into our roystering spirits.’ And again: ‘I wish you were here
to join in with your rippling laughter.’
Her attachment for her hostess was very strong, and she would write to
‘My dear dear Mrs. Locker’ letters full of affection and gratitude and
of love for the children. At the same time she was not to be lured from
her work, and in thanking Mrs. Locker for her repeated invitations and
kindness—‘it makes the world so much more beautiful,’ she said—she
firmly declined to budge; but finding it hard to refuse, she would
write to Mr. Locker (April 8, 1882):
Don’t let Mrs. Locker ask me to come. Do explain to her; tell her Mrs.
Jeune asked me to go to see her and I was obliged to say No. And it
all looks so delicious; even about here the trees are so tendrilly and
pretty, and it is so sunny and holiday feeling—I long to be out in it
all. It is quite an effort to sit at the table bending over my paper.
All the little children are out in the gardens and I hear their voices.
I even envy the cats as they run along the wall.
[Illustration: FROM A WATER-COLOUR DRAWING ON A LETTER ADDRESSED TO
MRS. FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON.]
She would not only illustrate her letters to Mr. and Mrs.
Locker-Lampson with the little pen sketches she bestowed on her other
favoured friends, she would now and again embellish them with finished
water-colour drawings exquisite in quality. Of these one or two are
here reproduced, but they necessarily lose most of their charm in
surrendering their beauty of colour.
The last of the letters runs as follows:—
[Illustration: On a Letter to Mrs. Frederick Locker-Lampson.]
Dear Mrs. Locker—You see me at the top doing penance in my own
particular style, being, according to Mr. Locker’s advice—uninfluenced
by the works of others. I do not know which bear (black, white, or
brown) behaves in the most bearish manner, but I feel I am of that
colour; but please forgive me and let me say thank you very much for
your beautiful gift.
You must not think so much of any little sketches I do for you; it is
only my voice saying thank you for all your kindness always. The half of
the candle belongs to Mr. Locker for his dear little box.